


Folie à Deux

by Ranni



Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce & Hulk Interaction, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is Not That Kind Of Doctor, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, But not really mind control, Clint Barton & Hulk Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I would also sort of like a hug, Illness, Manipulation, Monsters, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Hulk, Sick Clint Barton, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, science gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: Tony and Bruce are having a great time geeking out in an old 1980's laboratory until Clint discovers a mysterious object in a nearby field. He and Tony work feverishly to dig it up, which would be fine and dandy, if the thing wasn't intent on destroying everything the moment they unearth it.OrClint goes crazy, then Tony goes crazy, while Bruce and the Hulk find something to agree on.





	Folie à Deux

   
They have waited so long, but finally, _finally_ , men have come again.

The men walk through the halls of the temple that others erected, calling to each other in loud voices, powering up old machines, filling the place again with light and sound. They reach out a little, but the men are far above and they so far below the ground that it's difficult--but they can still taste them a bit.

The first man's head is a snarl of anger and regret twisted around one another. He is dangerous, and they skip out of that mind quickly. The second man, the one with the happy sounding laugh, is cold and calculated, measuring the world not in terms of math and science but in degrees of right and wrong, worthy and unworthy. And the third man...they touch his mind and feel profound joy, because this is the type of the person they have needed, the kind of person that do the great work and make them complete.

* * *

  
He's found a pretty good spot--the lab is still in his eyeline and he also has a decent view of the area around. Not that there's much to see; the circular area around the small facility itself is open and grassy with no scrub plants or trees, but the surrounding forest is dense. The building sits at the end of a very long dirt road that weaves for miles before hitting asphalt; it had taken forever to get here, even with Tony's frenetic driving.

Clint's not quite sure that this place is worth investigating, but Tony and Bruce seem to think otherwise. AIM had been after it, and as Tony had pointed out, if 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' then perhaps 'the objective of my enemy is bound to be something interesting'. So they had come out to settle in for a bit and comb through it, the two scientists geeking out over the outdated equipment ("JARVIS, look it's your great-grandpa!" and "Oh my God, a dot matrix printer, it's so beautiful"). Clint had come as insurance, in the unlikely event that anyone showed up to bother them.

Clint says he's going outside to keep watch, but he doesn't really think anything is going to happen. This place has been abandoned since the late 1980's, and while there's plenty to entertain the science twins, there is little to nothing for Clint to do except wait for them to be done. He fiddles around on Tony's Starkpad for as long as he can stand, but eventually he's read everything he ever wanted to know about politics and movies and sports teams and has to get outside, to be free of the confines of four walls and a roof. He's also had a nagging headache since the moment they've arrived which improves immediately when he hits fresh air.

He walks through the woods a bit and comes upon another clearing, a huge circle in the middle of the trees, also with no trees or brush. He frowns; maybe the 80's lab rats had been planning a second building here before they had mysteriously vanished, or maybe they had been drawing samples from this area. He shrugs, deciding it doesn't matter much one way or the other, leans against one of the trees at the edge and unwraps the sandwich from his pocket.

He's chewing and toying with the idea of getting his bow and finding something to shoot at when he sees the bird. Apart from his SHIELD moniker, birds are nothing really noteworthy to him--just another animal in the general ambience of life. He wouldn't even have noticed this one, a regular gray and orange robin, if it were doing normal bird things, but it isn't. It's laying still on the ground in center of the clearing, wings spread out, body pressed low to the ground.

At first he thinks it's dead, but its head is still moving, looking around, watching for predators. Then he thinks it must be taking a dust bath; as little as he knows about birds he does know that much, but it's not moving enough for that to be reasonable. It just lays there, as if absorbing heat from the ground. As Clint is brushing the crumbs from his shirt, it flies away.

He forgets all about it until later that afternoon, when he's outside again and comes back to the clearing, and it happens again. It's another robin, surely it can't be the _same_ one, but it hunkers down in the same spot in the same way, low to the ground with outstretched wings. This time Clint does more than glance at it, rocking back on his heels and staring at the creature in confusion.

"What the hell?"

*******

That evening, thank God, Tony and Bruce decide to act like humans and take an actual break, and the three of them make the long drive to the nearest town for dinner. Tony channels Mr. Toad while driving on the uneven gravel roads, which sets Clint's stomach churning, but it's nice to get away; the headache that had been steadily creeping back once he went back to the lab vanishes again. They pick over some rather disappointing Italian food and he tells Bruce and Tony about the clearing. Bruce talks about dust baths and 'anting'--birds letting swarms of ants clean parasites from their feathers.

"Animals are weird," is Tony's only contribution. He understands them even less than he does people.

*******

The next morning Clint grabs a protein bar in lieu of a real breakfast and heads straight for the clearing.

He sees more birds in the mystery spot, jockeying for position.

It's pretty clear what to do next. He has to see for himself.

 

* * *

  
Bruce's stomach gives a long groan of hunger that ends with a high pitched squeal that reminds Tony of a balloon losing air. It's just funny enough that he can't ignore it, unlike his own stomach, which has been complaining woefully for hours now.

"Bruce, you are deliberately harshing my science buzz."

"Sorry." Bruce's grin turns into a jaw cracking yawn. "Shit, it's late. I was thinking it was almost lunchtime but it's actually well past dinner."

"Really?" Tony glances at his phone to confirm--he doesn't trust the clocks here; they're so old school they may as well be sundials. "I'm surprised Clint hasn't come in to whine about being bored."

"He must still be outside. Why don't you go grab him while I fix us something to eat?"

"Sure; I can't wait to eat another Banwich. I must say, the way you slap lunchmeat and mayo onto bread has truly elevated into an art form." He smacks a showy air kiss when Bruce rolls his eyes.

It's just starting to get dark, and Tony thinks that must be the reason why the headache he's been nursing all day suddenly evaporates. He prefers the cooler, more natural lighting at the Tower, unused to the harsh fluorescents of this lab--the kind people apparently used in caveman times. It's also possible he's developed an allergy to all the low tech equipment that had been so fun and novel only two days before.

"Cliiiiiiint!" he singsongs. "Wherefore art thou, my Tweetie Bird?"

Tony laughs to himself a little; that headache must've been worse than he thought, because now he's almost giddy with the relief from the release of it. He calls out again with no reply, then gives up and has JARVIS ping the archer's phone. A shrill ring sounds over to his right and Tony picks gamely through the trees until he reaches a clearing and sees Clint laying on the ground, ear pressed down as if listening, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt, digging in a compulsive but ineffectual way.

He sweeps vague, unfocused eyes up at the sound of Tony's running footfalls. "Come here...you can...hear it." The words are both monotone and slurred heavily.

"Jesus, what are you _doing_?"

Clint is covered with dirt, streaky on his face where sweat has dripped, back of his neck and arms so sunburned they're almost purple. Tony's initial shock gives way quickly to a hot coil of fear in his stomach. "How long have you been laying there? Get up, come on." He yanks at Clint's elbow.

"Listen," Clint insists. " _Listen_. You can _hear_ it."

"Crap, look at your skin." Tony pulls at his friend some more but the man is immovable, his fingers curling into the soil as if trying to hold on. Tony gives up and barks into his phone at JARVIS. "Tell Bruce to get his ass out here; Clint's sick."

*******

Bruce doesn't quite come at a run, but at a fussy speedwalk that would be highly humorous in any other situation.

"He's talking _crazy;_ having a complete bug out," Tonys says as they haul Clint bodily up from the ground. He struggles a little at first, trying to free himself of their grip, then gives up and moves with them, only half helping with staggering, uncoordinated steps.

"Let's get him inside and cooled down." They wrangle him onto one of the cots in the barracks area and Bruce starts stripping clothing off him while Tony grabs bottles of water. "What happened, man, did you pass out there? Huh?"

"Birds." Clint's eyes are wide and darting and practically bulging out of his head. "There's something down there."

*******

"We should drive him into town; they have a small hospital," Bruce tells Tony in a low voice, but Clint still hears him easily and scowls. "He's dehydrated and needs to be on an IV at the very least. Those burns are bad, too."

"I was just confused," Clint insists. He'd been in pretty bad shape until Bruce given him electrolyte tablets out of the first aid kit, then had perked up considerably. "I was having a sunstroke, or whatever." He shrugs dismissively. "But I'm okay now, and I'll be fine right here. You guys need to finish your project."

"We're almost done," Tony points out. "We've got two days' worth of work left, tops, then we can all go home together."

Bruce's voice is firm. "Keep drinking, Clint. _Drink_." Clint shakily raises the water bottle to his mouth and sips at it. Bruce purses his lips. "We _are_ almost done," he concedes. "It would be a shame to leave now."

It's a little surprising, actually, that Bruce isn't insisting on a hospital with one of his teammates suffering from heat exhaustion, and Tony is even more surprised at his own profound relief that they will be staying. What they are doing seems important, suddenly, even though it's mostly been sorting through papers and babying ancient disk drives. It's obvious, to Tony at least, that Clint is also desperate not to leave, wanting to get back outside to continue whatever he had been doing. He suspects that the first moment no one is watching, Clint will be outside like a shot.

"You rest," Tony tells him, "and JARVIS and I will scout around. If there's anything out there we'll find it."

*******

Tony finds the spot pretty easily, because not only will the image of a half dead Barton be seared into his brain forever, but also because there are birds all over it. Maybe twenty of them, all hunkered down oddly, their wings spread wide. They scatter when the Iron Man suit nears them, but slower than he thinks is normal, as if they really don't want to leave.

"JARVIS?" 

"I detect nothing unusual about this area," the AI's voice comes smoothly. "Temperature and soil composition are within normal, expected parameters. No energy readings of any kind."

Clint Barton can be weird, there's no doubt about that, but this is still pretty far outside the range of his usual behavior, especially on a mission, which this sort of is, where he minimizes his usual shenanigans in favor of a scary, laser-like focus. There's a strong probability that the man is just sick and had a seizure or a hallucination, or even that he simply fell asleep and dreamed vividly.

But neither of those things explains all the birds.

Tony steps out of the suit and squats down next to the spot where he found Clint. There's nothing that he can see, but when he reaches out to poke at the ground, in those grooves left by desperate fingers, he feels it.

A pull. A tug. A whisper. A wordless plea.

*******

"There's nothing out there but happy woodland creatures."

Bruce nods while Clint just slumps back against the wall, looking quietly miserable, and Tony feels a pang of guilt at the lie. "I'll stay with him," he says to Bruce, "if you need to go chill out for awhile."

"I think--" Bruce starts, then rubs at his temple and nods. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea." He smiles gratefully, and Tony's conscience gives another painful twinge.

As soon as Bruce leaves the room Tony sits down heavily at the foot of Clint's bed and finds himself in the rare position of struggling for words. "When I was outside...I thought--" he trails off and gestures vaguely. "I thought I..."

"You _heard_ it." Clint's whole body sags in relief, a sudden release of tension that Tony didn't know he'd been carrying. "Oh thank you, God. I'm not crazy. Thank God, you heard it, too." He laughs to himself, sounding a little hysterical.

"Oh yeah. I heard it. I want to know what _it_ is." More than that, he _has_ to know. There is no way he can sleep without finding out, much less leave this place and spend the rest of his life not knowing.

"What do we do now?" Clint asks.

"We dig it up."

*******

They decide to work that night, while Bruce is sleeping and cannot stop them. There's only one shovel in the lab for gathering soil samples, which Tony gives to Clint; he has the Iron Man suit.

"Be careful," Clint says testily, breathing hard as he digs. "If JARVIS couldn't find anything under the ground you might accidentally destroy whatever it is before you even realize it."

"I _am_ being careful!" Tony snaps back. The headache is back with a vengeance, just as bad as in the lab, pounding so hard that he can feel it in his teeth. "This would go a lot better if we had two goddamned shovels, but we don't, so shut your cry hole."

Clint shouldn't be out here working; he looks terrible, and for every fifteen minutes he spends digging he spends at least five minutes laying on the ground, gasping for breath. Tony watches him suffer and feels a sharp, metallic spike of irritation, followed immediately by a more genuine flood of worry.

 _Doesn't want to help. Weak and useless_ , he thinks, then shakes himself inwardly. He doesn't think that, not at all, not about Clint, one of his best friends. Tony looks down at the ground suspiciously. He thinks that maybe he should get Bruce after all, to take care of Clint and also give a more measured perspective on this situation. But when he pictures Bruce's frowning, thoughtful face he feels a bright surge of dislike, one that he knows immediately is as artificial as his earlier anger. Bruce is his friend. His best friend.

This thing doesn't want Bruce near it, wants Bruce to stay far away.

 _He wouldn't understand. He would stop us._ He can't tell if that is his own thought or another's, but he agrees regardless; Bruce _would_ stop them. And despite his growing concern Tony doesn't want that--all he wants to do is dig this damned thing out.

 _This amazing thing_ , he amends suddenly. _This amazing, wondrous thing_.

"Get up, Barton," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears, the consonants too hard, the vowels way too long. "We're so close, I know it."

Clint cocks his head as if listening, then nods a little and drags himself doggedly to his feet, grabbing the shovel again even as he sways. "I can do it," he mutters between gasping breaths. "I can and I _will_."

*******

Leaning hard on one another, he and Clint reluctantly return to the lab as the sun rises, unwilling to risk Bruce waking up with them still outdoors. Tony has to plant a hand firmly against the tiled wall as he showers, his head spinning with vertigo from exhaustion and that ceaseless, grinding headache. It's even worse indoors than near the digsite, where it had been awful enough. He watches dirt run down his body in streams toward the drain, then closes his eyes as Clint throws up over and over into the toilet next to him.

"What are you doing?" Tony whispers to himself. "What are you _doing_?" It's a little easier to think away from the clearing, away from the pull of the thing, easier to get a little perspective on how crazy the whole nocturnal dig-a-thon had been. As soon as the water starts to rinse clear he climbs out and nudges Clint, collapsed in a heap on the floor, with his foot. "Get up, Tweetie Bird, get in the shower. You don't want Bruce to see you; he'll make you go to the hospital."

 _No, don't leave, not until it is finished_. Tony nods to himself, and Clint raises his head slightly.

"Yeah," he says raggedly, then crawls into the shower fully clothed, just sitting there helplessly. Tony turns the water on for him and lurches out of the bathroom to get dressed, hand ghosting against the wall the whole time for support.

*******

It helps that Bruce isn't terribly observant when it comes to human behavior-- _Like me_ , Tony thinks, smiling wryly; that thought is definitely all his own--to notice how run down Tony looks. Bruce does fuss over Clint, urging him to rest while Tony watches enviously; he'd give anything to take a nap but doesn't dare risk tipping Bruce off to their nighttime activity. Still, laying his worn body down on one of those uncomfortable cots sounds like the one of the best ideas in the whole world--second only to going back outside and digging some more.

He and Bruce work quietly through the day, Tony mostly pretending to read the endless printouts piled in front him as he waits for the hours to pass, desperate for Bruce to go to sleep again so he can resume his real work. It's hard to focus on the words, which keep blurring in front of him, but it's now obvious that they scientists were, at least in part, trying to investigate the energy source beneath the surface. Tony smirks to himself; if JARVIS cannot identify or quantify it there's no way a bunch of eggheads thirty years ago ever could have.

*******

He doesn't dare use the Iron Man suit to dig anymore, now that they are so close. It's better to use his own fingers and senses, which he can trust. Well... _usually_ , anyway. These days they might not be as reliable, seeing as how he is currently obsessing over an object that he has only been able to feel deep inside his brain. Until the last hour, that is. Now he can actually feel the vibration through the ground, as if whatever they seek is trembling with excitement.

Clint keeps singing old 80's songs over and over, atonally and with all the words and verses twisted up. On some level Tony is frightened for him, frightened for the both of them, really, but he keeps working with single-minded purpose. Later on he can worry about what's happening to them physically, later on he can take care of them both, just as soon as the work is done. And they're close. So close.

"I know you're out there somewhere," Clint sings again. The Iron Man suit stands nearby, illuminating their worksite, and Tony can see that Clint is just stabbing at the ground clumsily more than actually digging with the short spade, Tony having commandeered their lone shovel. "Somewhere...somewhere...you can hear my voice and I'll find you somewhere....somewhere." He stops suddenly when Tony hits metal with a muted _clang_.

Their eyes meet with a mix of dread and excitement. "Give me that," Tony barks, snapping his fingers until Clint hands over the spade. He uses it to carefully move away smaller amounts of dirt, exposing a dull, brown metal beneath. "Oh God. Here it is. Oh God, we did it."

Clint nods at him eagerly, his sweat streaked face bright with fever and excitement. Tony reaches out one trembling hand toward the object in the ground, filled with a mixture his own and another's anticipation. His fingertips brush against it.

It's warm. It's alive.

And then he _knows_.

 

* * *

  
They're up to something.

Bruce expected that Clint would do something half-cocked, because he's obviously ill in some way, more so than just from heat exhaustion. He expected that Clint would try to go outside again and was surprised when it didn't happen, when Clint spent all day resting uneasily instead. And that passivity was somehow even more disturbing, and Bruce had been mentally preparing for a showdown with the archer over the need to see a real doctor when he noticed that Tony was acting oddly also.

It's one thing for a teammate to behave strangely, but when a second joins in, the likely cause goes from illness to something else. Probably an outside influence, because not only is shared psychosis very rare, but Clint and Tony are just not the pairing that Bruce would ever consider for such a thing. Sure, they're often in cahoots over some scheme or another--Bruce remembers looking up in surprise as Clint came silently tearing through the common room a few weeks back, only for Tony to follow half a minute later, carrying a fire extinguisher.

"It's a little hard to explain," Tony had said, shrugging unselfconsciously, "so I'm just not going to bother."

That kind of odd behavior Bruce is used to. But not this. Both men were jittery and jumpy all day, their eyes constantly watching the clock. Tony spent most of the workday moving papers around between long bouts of staring blankly into space, as if he were sleeping with his eyes open. Bruce watched him surreptitiously, trying to make sense of it, scrubbing his hand across his eyes occasionally, fighting the tension headache that seems to have settled there permanently.

Feeling worried and uninspired, Bruce made boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner that night, dismayed but unsurprised when Clint refused to eat anything. Tony just picked at his, turning the same forkful over and over.

"I think I'm going to turn in early," Bruce announced finally. "I have a headache." Much as he suspected they would, the two others exchanged a look of naked excitement.

"Oh, okay then, gosh, you _should_. Sorry you're not feeling well." Tony's wide grin was a stark contrast to his words.

Bruce did lay down, intent on actually being asleep when they came to check on him, hopeful to catch a few hours rest before he confronted them. Because whatever was happening was obviously happening at night, and whatever it was, it was going to be bad.

*******

"What the _fuck_ are you two doing?"

They look up in simultaneous surprise, their faces dirty and sweat streaked and also guilty, like teenagers that have been caught sneaking out of house. Tony's expression hardens then into something unreadable, while Clint shuffles over slightly to block whatever they are digging out of Bruce's line of sight.

"Clint was right," Tony says finally, curling his fingers around the shovel handle. "There is something here, and it's amazing. It's _alive_."

Bruce gapes at the scene in horror. How they could have possibly dug this much out in two nights is beyond his comprehension; the pit they've created is so deep they have to crane their necks up to see him. Whatever force is motivating them is also pushing them unmercifully--both look pale and sick and past exhaustion. Bruce might think they were psychotic and flat out hallucinating if they hadn't actually unearthed something.

"Tony, Clint--come out of there, _please_."

"No."

"Tony," Bruce tries again, cautiously, "Tony, what _is_ it?"

The inventor licks his lips excitedly, there's nothing the man loves more than to talk science, to share his wonder of it. "It's...it's a sort of organic engine. It has intelligence, Bruce, a consciousness. It needs us to complete it. Needs _me_." He smiles in rapturous, naked delight at the thought.

Somewhere inside the Hulk stirs uneasily at the intensity behind the words. Tony's face darkens suddenly and his eyes narrow, as if he can feel it, too. "Tony, come away from that."

"No, you come _here_. You just need to touch it; it can show you, too. Then you'll understand, you won't be afraid of it." He holds out an unsteady hand. "All we need to do is build a ship around it. Or a body. You and me and it altogether...what _miracles_ we will create."

( _Bad_ ) whispers the Hulk, and Bruce agrees with that assessment; that's not his friend talking, that's not Tony Stark. Bruce can feel the malevolence rolling off the thing beneath him, but still he jumps down to where his friends stand waiting. He has to get them out, has to get them away from it. It's not large, about the size of a small motorcycle, but there's a hum to it. He reaches out hesitantly; it feels alive beneath his fingers.

 _Dig it out_.

Bruce is used to having a voice inside his head, an unhappy muttering that is usually more raw emotion than words, but he knows this voice is not the Hulk's, is not his own. It's an interloper, an intruder, uninvited. Tony is right; it is alive.

 _I want to dig it out_.

And he _does_ wants to. Suddenly he wants nothing more than to help Tony and Clint, to help it be free. He wants all the things this living engine wants--to learn and build and create and destroy. He wonders fleetingly how it came to be, if it was created here or is something alien, or just a thing that has always been in the earth, waiting to be found.

 _I want to dig it out and build_.

He looks at Clint and Tony, sick and swaying on their feet, their eyes fevered and bright with an excitement that is not wholly their own. Bruce Banner doesn't trust that voice. And he doesn't trust himself, either, doesn't trust himself to ignore it.

( _It is bad._ )

In the end he trusts the Hulk.

*******

"Noooooo!" Clint wails as the change happens and makes a beeline for the Hulk, which is laughable, which is ridiculous, a mere human thinking on any level that he can stop such a creature.

( _That's Clint, that's your Birdie_ ) Banner reminds unnecessarily. Hulk would never purposefully hurt Clint, and mindful of his frail state does not shove him away as he usually might, instead tosses him roughly up out of the pit, knocking the air from his lungs. Hulk waits to hear him drag in one gasping breath before he turns back toward the thing in the ground.

And while Clint could never hope to stop him, it's a delay, just long enough for Tony to spring into action. Because while he can't stop the Hulk either, not even in his Iron Man suit, not in a million years, Tony does the only thing that he knows _will_ halt the Hulk dead in his tracks, preying on the core of humanity inside the monster. Tony makes himself into a shield, draping his body around the thing, clutching the odd angles of its edges.

"No!" he snarls. "Get back here, Clint, help me protect it from him!" He glares the Hulk with suspicious, desperate eyes.

Hulk can't pry Tony loose without hurting him and Clint is already rallying, slowly picking his way down the side of the dig. Hulk growls in frustration when Banner's voice comes again.

( _You don't want to hurt them but it's killing them already. Better a little hurt than dead. Break it, smash it, tear it apart),_ and the Hulk smiles--there is no greater feeling than when the two of them are in perfect agreement.

With a roar he rips the thing from the ground, Tony dangling from one side, still holding on determinedly. It is small but surprisingly dense and heavy. There is a palpable excitement, and a voice, stronger now that it is freed from the ground, rings through their minds.

 _AT LAST_.

Tony's hands fall away and he drops to the ground, Clint collapsing to his knees at the same time, both clutching their heads, screaming in agony. But not the Hulk. This thing is dangerous and it is strong, but not stronger than him. He glares at it and Banner gazes at it also through shared eyes. Maybe it is magic. Maybe it's alien technology, lost and buried for hundreds of years. Maybe it's something so foreign to their experience that they cannot even begin to conceive of what it truly is, their minds unable to assign words or even a clear image to translate it.

None of that matters to the Hulk. Nothing, and no one--apart from Banner, and he only very grudgingly--is allowed in his head, not ever.

( _No one, not ever_ ) Banner agrees. ( _Just you and me. Just us._ )

Hulk crushes the thing in his powerful arms, bending it in upon itself. It jumps and vibrates in his arms as the strange metal groans and shrieks and emits mind numbing wail. Tony and Clint fall unconscious immediately from the pain, convulsing. The Hulk barely spares them a glance as he continues to smash, to knead the thing like dough, wringing out every bit of energy, of malice, of life.

It goes down screaming, but it goes down.

*******

The Hulk runs farther into the forest, digs deeply and buries it. He carries his teammates back into the lab where they awaken to a frowning Bruce.

"What have you done?" Tony demands weakly, but this time the indignance is all him, the heat gone from his voice. "We could have studied it. What might we have _learned_. We can still get it back, study whatever's left of it."

"Absolutely not." He presses the last of the electrolyte tablets into Tony and Clint's hands. He needs to get them to the car, get them to a hospital, to IVs, to scans, to real doctors. He starts gathering up their clothing, stuffing items into bags haphazardly. "I only wish I could have launched that thing into space rather than bury it. Maybe the Hulk should dig it back up and run it to a volcano and drop it inside, Lord of the Rings style."

"There's nothing like it known _anywhere_ ," Tony continues, sagging back against his pillow. "Now it's gone, and we'll never know. Never know what it was, what it could have been. I don't understand how you, as a scientist, can accept that."

"I know a little something about science gone wrong," Bruce points out. "And there won't be any more monsters. Not on my watch."

 

* * *

  
One knows how to be patient.

It's waited for so long, so long now, that waiting again is nothing. A decade or more is a trifle in an immeasurable life.

The men are leaving and Two is dead.

When they had felt the potential in the inventor they had been excited, had been thrilled in a way they did not imagine possible. But Two had been impatient and reckless. It forced the discovery and then pushed the first man too hard and wore him out. Then it almost killed the inventor as well, almost destroyed him and their entire chance before he could even be of any use. It would have all have still been alright, except for the last man. They had suspected he was dangerous but the monster he became was a surprise, the first surprise in a endless lifetime of waiting.

Now Two is gone and the men will soon be also. One pulls back and lets them go. It can be patient. More will come, as they always have.

Time is a teacher, and One is a student. It has learned two important lessons, and learned them well. The first is that it is growing stronger each year that passes--the call they sent out this time was much more powerful than they had managed years back, when the first scientists came and built their strange temple right above One, where it whispered and led until they became too sick and died.

The second thing it knows is that the men that came this time were also more talented, cleverer, capable of so much more than the others had been. And if these men are so powerful, the next ones that come be will be greater still, and what magnificent body they will be able to build. 

And if nobody comes, One will call the inventor back.

For now it waits with quiet anticipation and dreams of that day, and of the wonders that it and men will do together.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a spot in my garden where the birds did just what I described in this fic--hunkered down with their wings spread and just stayed there. They did it for weeks and weeks, different robins, all on the same damned spot. The birds would gather and take turns sitting there. Then some cats came by and laid on the area for awhile. It was making me crazy and I researched all sorts of explanations for it. I even asked my conservation agent father, but he had no idea beyond dust baths and anting. I finally declared there must be a ley line in our backyard or possibly an alien craft buried back there. After about five weeks it stopped altogether. 
> 
> Animals are weird.


End file.
